


Thanksgiving S.O.S.

by art3misthehuntress



Category: Professional Wrestling, World Wrestling Entertainment
Genre: Community: wrestlingkink, Everything is a Disaster, Fandango is the Best Boyfriend, Fluff and Angst, I'm genuinely sorry, Includes Non-Existent but Totally Should Happen Vaudevillain Feud, M/M, Summer Rae is the Best Supportive Friend, Summer Rae/Alexa Bliss is Background and Implied, Thanksgiving, Tyler is the Best at Hiding How Much He Loves/Needs Them, Until Summer Makes Things Right, We Dip into Fandango Being Terrified to Lose Tyler Territory, holiday fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-18
Updated: 2016-12-18
Packaged: 2018-09-09 16:00:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,961
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8898310
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/art3misthehuntress/pseuds/art3misthehuntress
Summary: Fandango tries to make Tyler feel right at home in the States since they have to work Thanksgiving this year. Murphy's Law refuses to let things be easy. Luckily, Fandango knows someone that wants Tyler to be just as happy as he does.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Written for a prompt: "This Monday, the 10th, is Thanksgiving Day in Canada. So I was thinking something with Breezango spending their first holiday together as a couple  
> I don't have anything specific in mind. Maybe meeting the family. Or them having their own dinner. Or since SmackDown has Live Events on Mondays now, something with Fandango fixing a dinner for Tyler since he can't be with his family that day.  
> Just some fluffy Breezango." -Anon
> 
> We'll get to everybody having a lovely holiday, but I literally cannot write anything without angst. ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯

For all his complaints about the terrible hygiene of his co workers and the business itself, Tyler Breeze had long ago reached the conclusion that there was nothing else he wanted to do more than wrestle. Even modeling no longer produced the same thrill as it once did, seeming stale in comparison to showing off weekly in front of larger crowds than any runway could allow. Though he’d never admit it, the largest debt Tyler owed to the sport was currently shuffling around in their hotel room’s tiny kitchen, swaying his hips in time to a song only he could hear and seemingly in danger of accidentally causing the thawed turkey on the counter to go flying. 

Fandango had insisted on doing everything by himself this Thanksgiving since, with the WWE’s busy scheduling, neither of them would be going home this year. Tyler’s family had extended him the customary invitation to join them in Canada for dinner, specifically mentioning that he was free to bring a “significant other” if he so chose, but he really wasn’t looking forward to the awkwardness that would inevitably be present if he brought Fandango along. It wasn’t Fandango’s fault he was so… flamboyant, but Tyler had lots of practice in tamping down his rather volatile emotions at Breeze gatherings just to make it through without saying something he’d later regret. His family would be accommodating, and most likely they’d accept Fandango as one of their own without hesitation, but Tyler did not look forward to the hours of polite conversations and questioning about their relationship that would follow. He loved showing off his boyfriend, but family was complicated and gross and needed to be handled with care lest something harsh and cutting let slip, putting everybody in a foul mood for the rest of the night.

Next year he’d figure out a way to get them both up to Canada, just for a week at most, in November. He could introduce Dango to some of the hottest boutiques in British Columbia before they’d have to be back for their next show.

A loud crash from the hotel kitchen interrupted Tyler’s plans.

“Don’t worry, everything’s fine. It’s all good!” called out Fandango in a voice that suggested that everything was, in fact, not all good.

Tyler rolled his eyes and sighed, blowing a loose strand of hair that had escaped from his top knot out of his face. Sometimes he marveled at how much power he held over the other man. As soon as Fandango had heard Tyler lamenting about how unfair it was they had to work on Thanksgiving Day, he had tried to make it up to him by offering to cook. It was a gesture, that while appreciated, was probably made without realizing just how much work went into preparing such a meal. Though he hadn’t said anything yet, Tyler had already programmed the number of the nearest five-star catering service into his phone for later that night when this whole debacle was abandoned. For now, he’d be considerate and indulge Fandango. Isn’t that what everybody told him to do, be more considerate?

The smell of cooked stuffing wafted around the hotel room from the cramped kitchenette. When Daniel Bryan had told the roster that all the tolerable hotels in the good parts of Philadelphia were completely booked for the holidays, Tyler had wanted to personally present him with a list of all the reasons why management shouldn’t stick their brightest stars in a cramped dumpster fire of a building in the North side of the city. His protests had gone unheeded. Instead there was embarrassment abound when Tyler and Fandango had arrived at check in to discover that there was not only one room booked for them, but that room had one bed. Tyler hadn’t decided if he wanted to passive-aggressively or genuinely thank Bryan for making that decision. Probably the former, for making assumptions and all that.

Even when stuffing a turkey, Fandango somehow managed to remain graceful, moving about the kitchen as if mid-dance and winking at Tyler as he bent over to put the bird in the oven. Fandango adjusted the stovetop dial. “Now we let that go for what we can before SmackDown tonight and finish it along with the vegetables afterwards.”

Ah yes, the show. They’d been feuding with the Vaudevillains for well over a month now after Gotch had called one of Tyler’s silk shirts “tacky.” The nerve. Those two drab uggos were still stuck in the 1800s for goodness sake; they need only look in the mirror to see true tackiness. 

“So, we’ve got some time to burn… any ideas?” Fandango arched an eyebrow suggestively as he sashayed to where Tyler was lounging on the sofa, scrolling idly on his phone and taking the occasional selfie.

“I’ve got a few,” murmured Tyler, letting Fandango bring him in close and press a kiss to his forehead. Fandango just held him for a moment, stroking his hair and nuzzling Tyler’s cheek, swaying slightly. 

_Ever the romantic_ , thought Tyler. Fandango liked foreplay and Tyler loved to be worshiped which was a large part of why their relationship worked so well. However, Fandango would sometimes linger a bit too long, whispering heartfelt professions of adoration as he touched Tyler and caused him to fall apart. Hell, Fandango _loved_ him. And while it should be everything he’s ever wanted (or at least everything the fairytales made it out to be), it terrified Tyler more than anything.

If this show was to get moving anytime soon, Tyler would have to help it along. His lips curled into a devious smirk as he ground up against Fandango, relishing the gasp he was able to draw from the other man. 

“We should probably take this to the bed-” Tyler muttered.

Fandango grunted out something intelligible as he began to lick up Tyler’s jaw, reaching around to grope his ass.

Fine then. “Dango,” Tyler said in a sing-songy voice. “If you’d just wait a moment I’ll do that thing you really wanted me to do last week. You know what I mean.”

Fandango froze, regarding his boyfriend with such a look of adoration it almost caused Tyler to melt. Then, he scrambled off the couch to the bed, dragging Tyler along after him.

_So eager_ , thought Tyler. He was going to have to show Fandango who really held the reigns in this relationship. They still had a bit of time before they’d have to show up at the arena, anyway. Tyler smirked. Time to make every minute count then.

 

Fandango watched warily as Tyler yanked open the hotel room’s door, and half walked, half stumbled onto the bed and collapsed, still in his gear, his hair long undone from its topknot and fanned like a halo around his head. He breathed heavily, having taken several more falls and brutal bumps at the hands of the Vaudevillains than Fandango had. It certainly hadn’t helped that Tyler had eaten the pin after failing to hit a beauty shot on Aiden English. Even though Fandango grabbed Tyler as soon as the bell rung, the damage had already been done, a large bruise beginning to blossom over his right eye.

When they had retreated backstage post-match, Tyler had rushed straight to the large mirror in makeup, gingerly prodding at the dark blotch disfiguring his face, yet remaining eerily quiet the entire time. Finally, he turned to Fandango, who hadn’t said a word, torn between wanting to comfort Tyler and being on the lookout for an outburst. When it did come, Fandango was prepared.

“How. Dare. They. Are they insane?! Those idiots are doing the world a disservice by existing and wouldn’t know true gorgeousness if it bit them in their pathetic, dusty-old asses. I want to…” Tyler inhaled, “bury them. Destroy them, maybe disfigure a few faces, break a few bones…” The icy tone to Tyler’s voice had dissipated into something venomous and ugly before he took another breath, running his hands through his hair. He tilted his head, regarding Fandango with an exasperated look. “Dango, we’re getting somewhere, right?”

“Of course we are,” Fandango nodded, though the knot in the pit of his stomach twisted painfully.

For once, Tyler seemed content with the simple affirmation, yet there was still that dangerous glint in his eyes that hadn’t been there only a few weeks ago. Losing so many matches on such a regular basis to the likes of the Usos and the Hype Bros was taking its toll on him, evident in the way he had pouted all the way back to the hotel and still hadn’t spoken a word.

Fandango dumped the duffle bag containing their excess gear in the hallway, It was approaching 11:30 p.m., a late Thanksgiving dinner to be sure, but they had learned early on to modify their personal lives according to wrestling’s schedule anyway. There were no holidays, no breaks. They had had to be at the arena since 6 o'clock, and eating before they performed was out of the question. Fandango doubted the fans wanted to see anyone vomit cursed Ultimate Warrior style on their opponent.

Stripping out of his ring gear, Fandango threw on sweatpants and a white t-shirt, slipping on a pair of oven mitts setting the oven to preheat. The turkey was partially cooked, and needed another hour at least before it’d be done. Five minutes later, Fandango opened up the oven door to slide the turkey in, but instead of the blast of heat he was expecting there was only a warm gust of air.

_That’s not good_. Fandango turned the oven dial up to its highest setting, waited a bit, and opened the oven door again. It was the same temperature. _That’s definitely not good_. 

Naturally, that was the moment that Tyler dragged himself into the kitchen, bleary-eyed and trying to cover up the fact that he was clearly favoring one leg over the other.

“How’s it going?” he asked, attempting to lean casually against the plaster wall.

“Um. It’ll be a bit-”

“Yeah,” Tyler ran a hand through his hair and sighed dramatically. “I figured as much. This would be the ending to tonight, wouldn’t it? Let’s just… cut our losses and order in tomorrow. I’m gonna get a shower and go to bed.”

That stung. Fandango doubted Tyler knew how venomous his words could be without realizing, a remaining defense mechanism from his early NXT days when nobody gave a damn about who Tyler Breeze was, so he had had to be brash, had to be a brat and take what he wanted to simply get noticed.

When the sound of running water began, Fandango picked up the corded phone and dialed the only person he knew could guide him through this disaster.

A momentary click later, and an irritated voice cut through the line.

“Whoever’s calling better have a damn good reason!”

Fandango winced. “Summer?”

There was a brief pause. “Fandango, why are you calling me at a quarter to midnight? Happy holidays and all, but I’m kinda with someone.”

Oh. “Today has just been a complete disaster and-”

Summer interrupted him. “Tyler levels of disaster or a normal person’s?”

“It was pretty bad. He’s upset over not being in Canada for Thanksgiving and I tried to make us dinner and the oven won’t work and the Vaudevillains just made it worse.”

“You were having dinner with the Vaudevillains?”

“What? No. There was this whole thing where they tried to challenge us to a ‘gentleman’s boxing match’ whatever that is. It doesn’t matter. The point is I need your advice.”

“This was supposed to be date night, but saving my favorite dance partner from being left out in the cold always takes priority. Text me an address and I’ll be there.”

“Summer, I don’t want for you to run out on your date…”

She laughed quietly. “Don’t worry, Alexa will understand-”

“Alexa, huh?” He didn’t know why he was so surprised. Alexa had seemed like such a sweet girl in NXT, and then, very quickly, she wasn’t anymore. She’d be more than a match for Summer.

“I guess the cat’s out of the bag now, isn’t it? See ya soon darling, Summer’s coming to make everything alright between you two loverboys.” 

Well then. Either everything was going to be alright or he had just made things worse by throwing another volatile personality into the mix. Nice job, Dango.

Out of the corner of his eye, Fandango saw Tyler emerge from the bathroom and sink into the hotel bed, flipping off the desk lamp and turning his back on the rest of the room. 

 

About an hour later, there was a light tapping at the door, and when Fandango opened it, Summer swept through the entrance, wrapping him in a tight hug and unable to suppress a grin when he lifted her off the ground, spinning her around.

“How have you been?” he asked quietly. He and Tyler knew that she was still recuperating from her injury and that it had ended up affecting her more than just physically. The fans wanted her back, but she said she needed just a little bit more time to make sure she was ready before returning to a division that was catering only to two of its athletes.

Summer looked down. “It still hurts sometimes. I thought… well I keep thinking…”

“Hey,” Fandango cupped her chin. “You’ve gotta take care of yourself first. I found that out the hard way, remember?”

“You never did get that Intercontinental title opportunity.”

“No. I got something better.” Fandango tipped his head to where Tyler was softly snoring.

Summer snorted. “Yeah, you and I know that, but a lot of people would disagree.”

“Doesn’t matter.”

She seemed to consider that for a moment before shaking her head and standing on her tiptoes to kiss him on the cheek. “Come on, show me the damage and let’s see what we can do.”

As Summer took charge, the gnawing feeling simmering in Fandango’s stomach began to disappear. He started to think he had made a good call after all.

 

“Tyler, wake up.” Summer gently tapped Tyler’s sleeping form on the back.

He stirred, but turned over. Summer’s taps gradually became more insistent.

Tyler slapped her hand away, but lifted his head from the pillow. “Dango! It’s still dark outside; we don’t have to hit the road until-”

Summer sat on the edge of the bed. “Guess again.”

Tyler’s eyes snapped open. “Summer? What are you doing here?”

“Throw on a shirt and come out to the kitchen in five. We’ll be waiting.”

He looked at the alarm clock next to the bed. “It’s 3:30 in the morning!”

“You better get your ass into gear and be there by 3:35 then, shouldn’t you?” 

Fandango raised an eyebrow as Summer returned to the kitchen. “I got a kiss and he got a ‘get your ass into gear'”? 

She grinned wickedly. “Based on what you told me he’s been a little more moody than usual. Don’t tell me he doesn’t deserve it.”

Sighing, Fandango moved some of the dirty dishes into the sink. “God, I’ve missed you. Why couldn’t Daniel Bryan and Shane have drafted you first? We won’t even see you when you do come back.”

“Ha,” Summer bristled very quickly. “I doubt anyone will be seeing me when I return, but that’s a brand issue. Actually, I’m thinking about asking Daniel to try to pick up my contract. My name’s not Sasha or Charlotte, so Steph and Mick won’t even notice I’m gone.”

“And you’ll get to be with Alexa too.”

Summer blinked. She’d forgotten how perceptive Fandango could be when he wanted to. “That too… well hello there, sleeping beauty.”

Tyler had thrown on an old developmental t-shirt and tied his hair back again, probably to attain some semblance of order. He glanced at the both of them before his gaze landed on the kitchen table, which was covered in plates and serving bowls full of food. A cooked turkey sat directly in the middle, curls of steam still wafting up from it. 

Tyler whirled on Fandango. “How did you-”

Fandango rolled his eyes. “How do you think?” He gestured at Summer. “Apparently if _she_ decides to hit and plead for an appliance to start working it will. Anyway, sit down. We got out the silverware and everything already.”

Tyler nodded, letting Summer guide him gently to the cramped table where the three of them took a seat and started passing around bowls. Summer had initially claimed she wasn’t hungry, but had very quickly decided she’d have “just a little” of the broiled potatoes which had turned into “just a little” of quite a lot of other things too.

Suddenly, Tyler devolved into sharp laughter.

“What?” Summer glared at him.

“It’s just I can’t believe we’re doing this. I’ve never… had a Thanksgiving to go to when it wasn’t with my family.” He made eye contact with Fandango, taking ahold of his hand. “Thank you, I… love you guys.”

“How hard did you say he hit his head in your match tonight?” Summer asked Fandango. Tyler responded with a poisonous glare, and she simply stuck her tongue out at him.

_Just like old times_ , mused Fandango, rubbing Tyler’s hand with his thumb. Yes, next year they’d definitely go and have Thanksgiving with Tyler’s family, perhaps dragging Summer along as well so as to avoid another night like this one. _All in all though_ … Summer was currently giggling and listening intently as Tyler went off about how the roster’s terrible fashion sense had managed to get even worse without her around. Perhaps things hadn’t turned out so terribly after all.

**Author's Note:**

> I love my gorgeous SmackDown boyfriends and you should too.


End file.
